Blurring the Lines
by Firefly101
Summary: Several years after the Fischer job, Dom is still having problems, even though he's home. Desperate, he calls the team together for one last job - no pay, but just for a favor. The idea is simple enough - but when one deals with Cobb, nothing is simple.
1. Prologue

**"There are some people who live in a dream world, and there are some who face reality; and then there are those who turn one into the other." - Douglas Everett**

"_You're waiting for a train, a train that'll take you far away." The screeching of the approaching train made him wince, and he reached for Mal's hand and wrapped his fingers around hers, gripping them for strength as the unstoppable train moved closer across the tracks where their heads lied. "You know where you hope this train will take you, but you can't be sure." Her eyes met his and she gave him a very small, very sad smile. This was it. "But it doesn't matter – because we'll be together-." His eyes moved upwards to stare at the train. He shut his eyes. He could not, would not, see Mal's demise, even though it wasn't her true death. "Dom," her voice was soft and gentle, almost reassuring, but quickly drowned out by the rumble of the train. For a moment, he felt a bolt of pain, but he kept his eyes shut. He could not bear to see her face._

_His eyes cracked open. He stared at Mal for a moment. His eyes traveled from her torso up to her head and he leapt to his feet, horror keeping him from screaming. The entire top half of her head was destroyed, leaving nothing but bits of brain and blood all over the carpet. He backed away and grasped for support. _

_Her foot twitched._

He sat up straight, the sheets flying off. For a long moment he simply sat on the edge of his bed, trying to make sense of what he had just seen. First of all, he had actually had a dream, for the first time in a very, very long while. Second, he had dreamed of Mal, who he had thought had been exorcised from his subconscious after the episode with Limbo, Ariadne, and Fischer. He thought for a while longer, considering his options. It had been several years since the inception job. Why was he revisiting Mal now?

His hand traveled into the drawer and withdrew a small metal top, surprisingly heavy for its size. He eyed the metal object for a long moment, fingering it, remembering. _He set his fingers on Mal's idea, the one she had locked away for far too long, her top, and set it on its point. After a moment, he gave it a good spin before shutting the safe on it again. _"Don't think of that," he reminded himself, as always. He set the top onto the bedside dresser and gave it a hard spin. The top spun for a few moments, slowing, swinging slightly, and finally toppling to hit the table. He scooped it up and began another exercise to calm him down. "List facts, Dom," he muttered, turning his mind away from Mal and onto things and memories that he could trust completely. Things that he knew were completely and totally correct.

_My name is Dominic Cobb. I am in the United States with my two children, James and Phillippa. I am a former extractor, turned father. I performed inception on Robert Fischer with Eames, Arthur, Ariadne, Yusuf, and Saito. _

He sucked in a few deep breaths and squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment. He couldn't let this happen right now, just when everything seemed to be going just right for him, for the first time in years. He stood up and carefully opened the door to the hallway, padding down in bare feet towards his children's rooms in bare feet. The door to Phillippa's room was carefully opened and Dom smiled slightly at his daughter's face. It was scrunched up in concentration as though she was working while dreaming. He moved over to James'. Of course he was fast asleep, his mouth slightly open. This wouldn't do. He could not be dreaming of Mal with his kids right here, right in front of him. He needed to return to reality. He remembered, a few years back, what Ariadne had said to him: "_Do you think you can just build a prison of memories to lock her in? Do you really think that's going to contain her?_" No. It wasn't.

Nothing could contain his guilt, not even the most elaborate dream prison possible. He was going to have to try something different: something radical.

He set the top back into the drawer and withdrew an envelope. Upon it was his address, but it was from Ariadne and Arthur. Dom opened it carefully and withdrew a worn pamphlet. A coffee stain covered the top right corner. Golden cursive letters arced across the cover: _You are invited to the wedding of Ariadne Williams and Arthur Morris. _It was dated as several months ago. He unfolded the pamphlet and took out another small piece of paper. A different style of cursive, this one much more messy, covered the paper.

_Dom,_

_Figured I might as well send this as a thank-you for getting me to the United States. I know you're busy with your kids, but Arthur and I, well, we're getting married! I figured you could tell from the wedding invitation. People are saying we're too far apart in ages… but who listens to those people anyway? But back to the point. Arthur and I were wondering how you're doing with your new life in the U.S. and if you wanted to get together for a drink to remember old times for a bit….Of course, considering the mess with Fischer, I don't know if you would even want to._

_Well, we'd both be up for a drink, at least._

_And if you can't come to the wedding… we understand. We really do. Send love to your kids, okay? I'll make this short and sweet: we miss you, Dom, and maybe we can see you after your life settles down._

_Ariadne_

_P.S. Phone us when or if you can!_

_Home: (312)-518-2726_

_My cell: (312)-528-4911_

_Arthur's cell: (312)-469-1209_

_And yes, that 5284911 was a reference to Fischer.. remember the passcode/hotel rooms?_

Dom smiled slightly and fingered the letter, eyeing the phone numbers listed below the actual note. 528, 491… If nothing else, Ariadne definitely had a nostalgic side to her. He reached over to the phone positioned next to his bed. He eyed the phone numbers one last time. It was desperate, that he knew, but it was possibly the only thing left.

He began to punch in the numbers. _Three, one, two, five, one, eight, two, seven, two, and six._

Dom pressed the call button and held the phone to his ear. For the first time in several years, he began to pray. _Pick up, pick up, pick up, God, let her please pick up… Just today, if not any other time…_


	2. Chapter 1: 2:00 AM

"**A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world."**

**- Oscar Wilde**

Chapter 1 – 2:00 A.M.

_Brrring! Brrring!_

Ariadne rolled over, moaning as she stuffed her head deeper into the pillow. The phone continued its incessant ringing, and she knew if she let it ring any longer, it would wake Arthur up, which would not make him a happy camper, so to speak. She felt along the side table for a moment, snatching up the phone and eyeing the number. Strange. She had no idea who that was. Maybe a client? Nah. Shrugging, she held the phone to her ear. "Hello? Who is this?"

A familiar voice, aged and tired, met her ears. Her eyes widened. "Hey, Ariadne, it's Dom. Dom Cobb." Ariadne did not speak, instead pressing the phone to her shoulder and giving Arthur a good shake. "Arthur! It's Dom," she hissed, shaking him one more time, "Pick up the phone!" He mumbled something groggily and managed to pick up his own receiver, fumbling clumsily with the buttons. Not waiting for Arthur to join the conversation, Ariadne pressed the phone back to her ear. "Dom, it's _two o' clock in the morning_. Couldn't this wait until later?"

There was a pause from the other side of the conversation, broken only by the arrival of Arthur. "Hey, Dom."

"Arthur? What're you doing – oh, of course," Dom sounded surprised, almost as if he hadn't been expecting to hear his friend's voice on the same line with Ariadne. For a moment, she wondered if he had gotten the wedding invitation: but she was so very sure she had gotten the right address from Professor Cairne. Then again, he hadn't come to the wedding proper.. She shook her head, correcting her train of thought, and said, with force in her voice, "Dom. Don't get distracted. What is it?" There was an even more awkward pause on the other end of the line. "Well?" Even in the silence, excitement began to run up her spine. Was it time to start building again? She had been positively dying to build a world for the last few years. Legal dream experimentation was so... so.. _boring_.

A single word left Dom's mouth, in Washington, and traveled along the phone line to Ariadne's inner ear in Chicago. In that moment, with bated breath, she waited. "I need you to help me with extraction," Dom's voice was soft and almost regretful. There was something else behind it, almost as if an explanation was just about to pass his lips. Before she could respond, Arthur sat up several inches straighter, held the phone a good distance away from his ear, and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a profanity-laced oath. "Goddamnit, Dom," he finally replied, his tone dripping with resentment, "What the hell are you thinking? Honestly? Extraction? Who? Cobolt again? I don't think the rest of the team will be happy with being dragged back into your fantasies!" Ariadne winced at her husband's tone and placed a firm hand on his shoulder, trying to signal him to calm down. He did not pay attention, glaring at the phone, his grip tightening around the device as though it was his former ally's throat.

"Arthur – " Dom began, only to be cut off by Ariadne.

"Dom. Let's continue this tomorrow, shall we?"

"But-."

"No buts. Dom, may I remind you that it is two o' clock? Arthur is tired and probably grumpy enough without you calling him." Her tone was playful and slightly worried at the same time. She sighed slightly, Arthur's arms twining around her waist. She detangled herself from his arms and rubbed her eyes for a moment.

"Fine."

"But one thing," Ariadne finally added cautiously, "what is this thing that you need?"

"I already told you it was extraction."

"Yes, but what's the thing you need out, Dom?"

The pause on the other end of the line stretched on and on. There was an awkward cough, and even Arthur picked up the phone to listen, to see what grand plan Dom had pulled out of his hat this time around. It would either be complicated or simple, and both of them were hoping it was simple. But Dom was asking him to perform extraction on.. well, himself, which would be difficult enough. Dom would be aware he was dreaming and so would his subconscious.

"Mal."

Arthur looked damn near ready to erupt into another shouting fit. He wasn't turning purple, but his free hand was tightening into a fist and he was gritting his teeth. In other words, this was not good. Before this could occur, Ariadne reached over and grappled with him for a moment, attempting to gain control of the phone before he did something stupid. Unfortunately, Arthur gained the upper hand and managed to speak into the receiver.

"You want us to remove a whole person from your subconscious? That would take hours of traversing your mind, which is already twisted enough without five or six people running amok in there, under attack by your subconscious, which, if you don't mind me saying, is absolutely aggressive and out to murder everyone!"

No matter how much Ariadne wished to disagree with Arthur, she knew, deep down, that he was right. Her words of wisdom to Dom, years ago, had been that he could not contain Mal in a prison of memories and dreams. Even if he thought his will was strong up enough to keep her there, it never would be. She would squirm through a hole, or find some sort of weakness in him, and that's where she would manifest like a highly resistant parasite.

And then she would appear in his dreams and kill off everyone.

Just thinking of it made Ariadne's stomach turn. She was utterly ruthless, that's what Mal was. Even for a few months after the Fischer job, Ariadne had put Dom in her prayers, even though her prayer sessions were sparse and only when things were really bad. Or, more honestly, put in her prayers that Mal had been left behind in Limbo, for Dom's sake and his children's. God didn't appear to have been listening, though, which she supposed was why she was an atheist.

Surprisingly, Dom's voice rose above Arthur's. "Look, Arthur, if you're not going to help, fine. I don't fucking care. I need Mal out and I need her out now, before I go God damn insane! I'm with my kids now, and I should not be worrying about her anymore!" What was supposed to have been a calm conversation had turned into a heated argument. Out of pure desperation Ariadne wrestled with her husband again, this time gaining control of the phone.

"Dom," she paused in order to catch her breath, sucking in lungfuls of air, "look, we'll call tomorrow. I'll talk to Yusuf and Eames. Let's see if we can at least have a get-together." Arthur gave her a hard glare before stuffing his head underneath his pillow, trying to blot out the world – or at least its sounds. She knew the two of them would be arguing like two siblings who absolutely, positively hated each other in the morning, but that she could deal with. Ariadne could deal with dream worlds, and she could certainly deal with an angry Arthur. Her and Arthur didn't have an absolutely perfect relationship, but arguing wasn't on a regular basis... usually.

There was a long pause in between Dom's reply. "I guess." There was another pause. "Do you know where they're at?"

"The last I heard from Yusuf, which was a few weeks ago, he was in England, helping out with another team... but," she added mischievously, "I think I could convince him to leave his team for another run with the famous Dominic Cobb." Arthur stuck his head out from under the pillow for a moment with another glare. "And as for Eames, I heard a few months ago that he nearly got himself killed, escaped, and is currently wooing a girlfriend in Las Vegas."

"Sin City," Dom commented with a wry tone. "Why am I not surprised? Plus, for Eames, it isn't a good day unless he has a woman near his side."

"Right. I'm guessing you don't want this to take too long. If you could head to Las Vegas and pick up Eames, which'll keep you busy enough, Arthur and I will head to England and get Yusuf to the United States one way or another, legally or not. Plus, I don't think it would be good to have Arthur and Eames within a confined space. Much too close to each others' throats, really." Even Dom, with his tiredness and the weight of Mal hanging on his shoulders like huge, immovable weights, managed a slight chuckle. Within the small group of former extractors, the strange relationship between Arthur and Eames was something of a legend. No one knew if it was an argument, a rivalry, or a twisted friendship, and no one really cared, as long as the two provided entertainment. If it was an argument, the reason for the entire fiasco had probably been long forgotten even by its participants.

"I'll call you tomorrow morning, Dom," Ariadne rubbed her eyes and yawned. They had been talking for nearly twenty minutes, and each minute without sleep was another minute wasted, especially when it seemed like the next few weeks were going to be crazed, and she would be lucky to get a few hours of shuteye without interruption.

"Of course," Dom's tone had gone from nervous and slightly crazed to the calm, cool, collected Dom she knew so well. The former architect, the teacher, the professional extractor. Maybe he was finally getting some relief, now that he knew at least Ariadne was on his side.

"Bye, Ariadne."

"Night, Dom. Get a good night's sleep, okay?" Ariadne hung up first, placing the phone gently back into its cradle. He had not responded, but he probably needed a few well-wishes. Her next step was to get some sleep and start arranging trip information tomorrow.

"Good night, darling," she murmured, planting a light kiss on the top of Arthur's head – the only part she could, as the rest of his head was still stuffed beneath the pillow. She began to reach towards the lamp to turn it off, but her hand redirected itself. Gently the bedside table's drawer slid open. She searched blindly around within for a moment. A small chess piece, a bishop, was rolled around in her hand for a long moment.

A smile stretched across her features as she turned it over, smiling, its weight so familiar and yet so foreign in her palm. It had been a very, very long time since she had felt its bronze sides. Ariadne placed it upright on her side table. It took her a long time to fall asleep once again, and her last conscious image was that of the chess piece, staring back at her.

Some part of her tried to convince her not to go through with it.

But it was too late.

The chess piece, extraction, the dreams, had drawn her in again.


End file.
